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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23960608">that thing inside you comes awake</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/escherzo/pseuds/escherzo'>escherzo</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Dom/sub, Light Sadism, M/M, MAG165 Coda, Oral Sex, Possessive Sex</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 15:54:00</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,397</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23960608</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/escherzo/pseuds/escherzo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“It's a—power thing,” Martin says, face flushing harder. “Anyway, shut up, I'm allowed to find my boyfriend hot.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>603</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>that thing inside you comes awake</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>bc many of us were yelling about HOT JON HOT JON at the end of the last episode, but none of us were quite as loud as Martin </p><p>this was going to be relatively vanilla porn and then I tripped and spilled some sadism in again. from jon's end this time instead of the usual marto though!</p><p>(one offhand mention of martin having an abusive background btw)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>And so, they run.</p><p>*</p><p>Martin's hand is clasped tight in Jon's as Jon tugs the both of them forward. Past the remnants of carousel, past the screams, past the way the music distorts itself and goes higher, changes key, every time Jon lets himself steal a glance behind them. The colors washing over them are bright and sickly both and a fragment of the poetry lingers in his head, caught like dirt under fingernails, <i>the thump of my heart, the thump of the chase,</i> but of course, his heart doesn't need to beat at all, anymore. </p><p>He shakes his head. Closes his eyes for a moment even as he runs. The ocean of flowing knowledge lets drip that he has blood on his face. He has blood on his face and Martin keeps looking at him and not knowing quite what to say. </p><p>It's funny, how a heart that has no need to beat can still lurch. </p><p>*</p><p>There are—liminal spaces, in this new world of theirs. Not free from the fears, exactly. “It's complicated,” he said, when he explained this to Martin, eighteen hours and twenty two minutes ago, and Martin sighed and gave him a fond look and said, “of course it is,” because nothing in this world is simple. </p><p>Jon created this world. Of course it's going to be complicated. </p><p>“These spaces,” he continued, then, gesturing to the one they were entering at the time, although Martin couldn't see the way the borders knitted themselves back together as they pushed through the veil of it, “are the closest thing this world has to neutral ground. Spaces not wholly claimed by any one fear although in some ways they belong to the Web. You could call them hunting grounds. People who pass through them linger. Rest. They let themselves think they have found safety and reprieve. But any fear can find its prey here.” </p><p>“Then why are <i>we</i> here?” Martin asked, voice going a little squeaky as he looked around the empty car park they suddenly found themselves in, gazing nervously up at the fluorescent streetlights above them as they flickered violently. The air smelled faintly of blood and rot. But then, most of the world did. </p><p>Jon squeezed his hand. “We're not prey,” he said, and Martin believed him and also didn't. Believed him that <i>Jon</i> wasn't prey. Didn't so much apply the notion to himself. </p><p>*</p><p>This new space is an echo of nothing and an echo of the carousel and just peaceful enough to set Jon's teeth on edge. An abandoned playground, with a faded red slide and swings just starting to rust and a little yellow-topped house made of vertical bars, and yet so silent and still; a lifeless copy of a place real people might have been once. He stops, pushing away the last webbed strands of the veil between the Not-Sasha's piece of the world and this nothing-space, and beside him, Martin takes a deep breath and squeezes Jon's hand tight for a moment before letting go and stretching, little pop-pop-pops of his spine as he twists, eyes closed and a faint smile on his face. </p><p>“Ahhh,” he says, an over-exaggerated picture of relaxation, and Jon raises an eyebrow at him because it is either that or crumple. It's easiest to assume he doesn't understand what this is. Every part of Martin's fabric has a tendency to pacify woven in; when faced with something dangerous he is trapped with, of course he would smile, try to keep it calm, try to find a way to minimize the way he will be hurt if he doesn't. Jon Knows in a visceral way exactly where those habits came from. </p><p>Martin scuffs his feet into the wood chips on the ground and shuffles his way through them towards the bench next to the slide, leaving a trail of displaced mulch behind him, and when he looks back over his shoulder and smiles at Jon, motioning for him to follow, even knowing what he does, Jon is helpless to do anything else. </p><p>“You know,” Martin says, shrugging out of his pack and setting it on the ground in front of him, “I know we don't actually have to rest or anything, but I think right now I really wouldn't mind it.” He stretches out on the bench and tips his head back, his big frame crowding Jon in in a way that he would usually find comforting, but right now--</p><p>Jon frowns, stealing a quick look at Martin as he gets up to undo the straps on his own pack. If this is feigned relaxation, it's a very good show of it. But Martin has always been good at that sort of thing. </p><p>“Are you--” Jon begins, and he can feel the buzzing against the back of his teeth. He swallows against it, fighting back the power that wants to pour out every time he opens his mouth, flow forth in a way that's more natural than breathing is now. “You're... alright, then,” he settles on, finally, just far enough away from a question to be safe. </p><p>Martin laughs a little. “You could just ask, you know I've told you that.” </p><p>“It doesn't feel fair.”</p><p>“Yeah, yeah,” Martin says, waving a hand at him. It's a well-trod argument at this point. “But yes. I mean, that was... a lot? But.” </p><p>“I'm sorry, Martin,” Jon begins, and even if he was able to close all of his eyes, turn away, run, he would still Know that Martin is looking at him. His voice, when he speaks, is rusty with static, and he can tell from the way Martin's arm tightens around his shoulder that his eyes are starting to glow. This awful fear of being known, being seen for what he is, what he has turned into, makes his whole body go hot. </p><p>“Jon.” Martin shifts around enough to reach out and cup Jon's face with both hands. “You have nothing to be sorry for right now.”</p><p>“I mean,” Jon says helplessly, gesturing to the world around them, and Martin's grip tightens. </p><p>“Okay, yeah, <i>that</i>, but if you're apologizing for, you know, the whole thing with <i>her</i>, don't. That was incredible.” </p><p>“I murdered someone,” Jon says, reaching up to rest his hands over Martin's. “In front of you.”</p><p>“First off, this was a monster that a. ate one of my best friends, b. took her place and made me think I was friends with <i>my best friend's murderer</i>, and then c. tried to also horribly murder all of us. And that's not even starting with whatever she did to those <i>people</i>.” Martin pulls his hands back so he can tick them off on his fingers as he goes, and Jon can't help but smile.</p><p>“So, ah, you're not a fan, then,” Jon says. </p><p>“Not so much! Also, oh yeah, <i>that was incredible</i>. I didn't know you could do that!”</p><p>Jon stares down at the ground, scuffing his feet into the mulch. “Neither did I,” he says, although it's only half true. He can feel the immense power within him at every moment, energy humming down his nerves and sparking, and all he has to do is speak and experience and Be. It calls to him, when it's quiet, the tide asking to be let in. The awful Sight that feels so good when he lets himself drown in it. He didn't know what form it would take when he let it out, exactly, but he knew that the not-Sasha would not survive it, and in the moment, he had wanted nothing more. </p><p>“It really doesn't bother you?” he asks, finally.</p><p>“Uh, <i>no</i>. You know, I appreciated the whole, “I won't let the world eat you” thing you had going on but I honestly thought it was a little bit “never let go, Jack,” you know? It was a nice thing to hear but I don't think I really believed you'd be able to do it. I'd lose track of you for a moment and get swallowed by the earth or flung into the sky or eaten by a weird shadow creature, and that would be that, lights out Martin. And then I found out that you're a little bit in charge of the world now, maybe? and can call a, a death ray down on monsters. It changes things a bit, you know?” Martin laughs, face going a bit pink.</p><p>Jon opens his mouth, about to protest the charges of <i>in charge of the world and has a death ray</i>, and then Martin opens his mouth again and he loses the ability to think entirely.</p><p>“Also, uh, it was really, <i>really</i> hot.” </p><p>“<i>Hot</i>?” Jon chokes finally. </p><p>“It's a—power thing,” Martin says, face flushing harder. “Anyway, shut up, I'm allowed to find my boyfriend hot.” </p><p>He looks so flustered Jon can't help but kiss him in the moment, fingers tangling into Martin's curls and pressing their lips together. Martin makes a startled noise against his mouth and then melts into it, mouth opening pliant and hot under Jon's, letting Jon guide him by the hair just how he wants him, until the whole world goes soft and hazy with pleasure.  </p><p>“What do you want?” Jon asks, letting the compulsion buzz against Martin's lips, and Martin lets out a soft, wanting noise that makes Jon's blood go hot. </p><p>“Put me on my knees and use me,” Martin says, eyes dipping closed as he kisses each closed eyelid along Jon's jaw and neck, reverent. “And tell me how none of these things will be able to hurt me because I belong to you and you'll kill anything that tries to take me away from you. God, that sounded way less fucked up in my head.” </p><p>“God, <i>Martin</i>.” Jon shudders and pulls him into another kiss, harder and more desperate than the first. “Are you sure? This isn't going to be a very comfortable place to kneel.” </p><p>“It's alright,” Martin says, giving him one last lingering kiss before sliding to his knees in the dirt. “You're into that, anyway.” </p><p>He's not wrong. Jon is suddenly, vividly struck by the mental image of the last time he and Martin properly had time together in the safehouse, the way Martin had rocked back into Jon's hand as he brought it down, the way he'd begged for more pain. He'd squirmed and cried and came, the tears continuing to flow as he shuddered through the aftershocks, and it was that, seeing Martin so overwhelmed, smiling through those tears at him, so happy to have been hurt by him, that had made him come in the end. Sex itself is complicated, most of the time, but that, with Martin, his body seems to understand perfectly well. </p><p>He longs for a real bed to spread Martin out in, but for now this brief respite in a nowhere-space will have to do. Martin squirms, shifting back and forth, his face pinching with minor discomfort as the wood chips dig into his knees a bit through the fabric of his jeans, and he looks up at Jon with a small, private smile as though he knows perfectly well what his shifting is doing to Jon. </p><p>“Hands behind your back,” Jon says, soft, lifting his hips to slide his trousers down to his knees. “And then come here.” </p><p>Martin shuffles forward the half-step, wincing as he does, and Jon threads his fingers into Martin's hair, petting softly through the curls and then <i>twisting</i>, and Martin shudders and goes limp all at once, completely at Jon's mercy. Surrendering. It makes Jon's blood run hot, and as he pushes Martin's head down Martin obediently opens his mouth and takes him in. </p><p>“Perfect,” Jon says, voice going low and resonant, letting himself slip into the headspace for this. He lets Martin take him the whole way in before holding the back of his head in place and grinding in a little deeper, against the spasming back of Martin's throat. “This is where you belong. Safe and <i>mine</i>.” </p><p>Martin moans, trying to take in more of Jon, and Jon can be a benevolent god to this worshipper. He fucks in, deeper this time, pushing past resistance and into the hot, clutching length of Martin's throat as Martin's eyes water. Jon brushes them away with a gentle thumb even as the movement of his hips grows harsher. </p><p>“Mine,” he repeats, and the static rises around them. “None of these things will touch you. They know they cannot hurt me and they know that if they so much as dare to look at you that I will <i>rip them apart</i>.” </p><p>He lets Martin See, then, exactly what he looks like, red-faced, face a mess of spit and tears and hazy, pleasure-drunk eyes, and Martin whimpers around him. </p><p>“The only one allowed to hurt you is me,” Jon croons, static curling around every word, and Martin presses his hips forward against Jon's leg and comes all at once, still lost to it when Jon fucks in one last time and spills down his throat. He keeps Martin there on his knees as long as he can bear, filling his mouth up with his cock going slowly soft as he pets through Martin's hair. </p><p>“Was that what you wanted?” he asks softly, once Martin comes back to himself a little. </p><p>“Yeah,” Martin says, smiling shyly at him. “Sorry for being into you going all--” He waves a general hand. </p><p>“Sorry for the wood chip indentations you probably have on your knees now,” Jon counters, but now he's smiling back. “I'll try to find a between-space with actual beds next time. There's at least one hotel one.”</p><p>Martin pushes himself up off the ground and settles back onto the bench, picking the wood chip bits off the knees of his jeans. He leans his head against Jon's shoulder and breathes out a sigh. </p><p>“You missed one,” Jon says, not looking down. “Inner part of your right knee.”</p><p>“Oh, thanks!” Martin says, and then they're caught up in smiling at each other again, and for a moment, Jon doesn't think about the new world around them, about the power threatening to spill over his edges. Martin calls what they are on a quest and Jon knows that he is not the hero of the story, and for that one, lovely moment, it doesn't have to matter.</p>
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